


The Bartender and The Thief

by saferbet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, M/M, Pining, Thief Dean, bar tender castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saferbet/pseuds/saferbet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy who’d just walked into the bar obnoxiously cleared his throat and Castiel glanced over his shoulder to see who this asshole was. “I’m not serving you.” He said immediately. </p><p>Or the AU where Dean is a regular at the bar where Castiel works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bartender and The Thief

Castiel Novak was rinsing out the glasses that the three office workers on their lunch break had been drinking from when he heard the door swing. It wasn’t often that El Cuervo had any punters between the few at lunch and the regulars that rolled in at about seven or eight each evening. It was in a crappy enough area that it was pretty rare that the many, many tourists to the Big Apple ever accidentally stumbled in and most of the High School kids with shitty fakes were put off by the fact that the corner booth was habitually taken up by four elderly guys from El Salvador playing dominoes and remorselessly flouting the smoking ban with either pipes or cigars. Not that Castiel never served High Schoolers; there were a couple of little punk kids from Jackson Heights who he wouldn’t turn away. Mainly because they reminded him of himself at that age and they weren’t rowdy drunks, normally they just drank beer and selected Bouncing Souls tracks on the jukebox. Plus when they’d first come to the bar Frankie Morrison had totally recognised him as the bassist of French Bulldog, it would have been just plain rude to turn away a kid who’d come out to see his band the weekend before.

The guy who’d just walked in obnoxiously cleared his throat and Castiel glanced over his shoulder to see who this asshole was. “I’m not serving you.” He said immediately.

Dean scowled at him and sat down, exceptionally carefully, on the bar stool nearest to Castiel. He was a mess. His lower lip busted and he was sporting a startling black eye. There was still blood in his hair for fuck’s sake. Castiel had been shocked when the nurse had first directed him to Dean’s hospital bed. He hadn’t looked at all like the cocky bastard who’d hustle pool and chat up strangers and drink his whiskey neat and generally just be a pain in Castiel’s ass whenever he rolled into the bar. He’d looked small and fragile. So fucking vulnerable that Castiel felt sick. Dean wasn’t any of those things. Dean was gruff and strong, a little rough around the edges, and in the years that he’d been filling his glass with Johnnie Walker Castiel had somehow managed to become reluctantly charmed by him.

“Aww come on, I just got out the hospital and now you won’t even serve me a drink. It’s fucking medicinal.” Dean griped. Castiel just rolled his eyes and gave in, fetching the bottle and grabbing a glass – then thinking fuck it and making it two – to pour him his damn drink. Castiel had already learned that Dean had a tendency to get what he wanted.

Dean immediately downed his drink and then looked at Castiel expectantly. Castiel simply sighed long-suffering and obligingly poured him a refill which he preceded to drink thankfully slower this time. Castiel sipped at his own and tried not to wince at the burn. Neither of them spoke.

After a long enough time had passed for it to become resoundingly awkward Castiel broke and inquired, as casually as he could, “So are we just not gonna talk about how you apparently had me listed as your emergency contact?” He sounded slightly more pissed than he’d meant to but really who the fuck puts down the number of their local bartender as their emergency contact? Yeah there had been that night a couple of years ago but that was nothing and anyway, it really did not justify Castiel being phoned at three in the morning by Elmhurst Hospital because Dean had gotten the shit kicked out of him robbing a black-market pharmacy and fine, Castiel was pissed. He was pissed because he’d been so scared - really fucking scared - when he’d received that call and he damn well didn’t wanna be the one they phoned if Dean somehow went and got his stupid ass killed.

Dean had the good sense to at least look slightly remorseful about it. “You came though.” He responded quietly as if that in any way cleared up the confusion as to why he’d been called in the first place.

“Of course I came.” Castiel replied, filling up both of their glasses again. The chance of him remaining sober for the rest of his shift was seeming increasingly unlikely the longer he stayed in this conversation.

Dean looked at him then. His green eyes settling on Castiel heavily, making him slightly uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure that you would.” He explained but something about the way he said it sounded loaded, there was too much weight to it. Castiel coughed awkwardly, gulped down the rest of his whiskey and then coughed again because he wasn’t Dean fucking Winchester and couldn’t just swallow down whiskey like it was juice. Dean smiled at him fondly and finished his smoothly. Admittedly, Castiel did recognise that they were both drinking way too hard for a Tuesday afternoon, that they really should slow down, but then he poured them both another round anyway. Dean smiled and then admitted, “It’s just. I trust you.”

Castiel was surprised to hear him say that. Not really surprised that he felt it, but surprised that he’d admit to it. Castiel felt strangely warm with the knowledge that Dean, who never took the same person home twice, pretty much always kept to himself minus the couple of times the old guys had managed to rope him into a game of dominoes or the one memorable time he’d gotten into a huge debate with Frankie and Jay about the superiority of Coen Brothers’ movies over those of Tarantino, trusted him. It also made him sad to know that Dean didn’t have anyone else looking out for him. Didn’t have anyone else who he could rely on supplying him with free nachos or sometimes having to slip the cabbie a twenty to make sure he got into his apartment okay when he’d had a few too many whiskeys. He didn’t necessarily want to be Dean’s emergency contact but he knew already that there would never be a day where Dean couldn’t trust him to show up if he was called.

“And you’re kinda the only face I’d wanna see when I came-to on one of those horrible gurneys.” He continued absentmindedly. Castiel glanced up in surprise because what the fuck? Dean looked instantly stricken. “Shit.” He cursed feelingly. “I guess maybe codeine doesn’t mix well with whiskey. You think maybe you can just pretend like I didn’t go running off my mouth and embarrassing myself?” Castiel felt a certain degree of concern that Dean had been drinking hard spirits whilst taking prescription painkillers but it was only fleeting in the face of the more overwhelming what the fuck still ricocheting around his brain.

“Dean?” He started quietly but then, he didn’t know what to ask, how to follow that up. Do you mean it? Do you mean it like I want you to? Castiel felt suddenly dizzy but that was probably only from the alcohol. After that night getting on for two years ago now, - maybe only the second or third time that Dean had come in, when he’d stayed to close up, waiting whilst Castiel balanced the till and washed up the glasses and then kissing him against the jukebox (it was playing Highway to Hell and Castiel fucking hates himself for remembering that) - Dean had left. He’d left before Castiel had woken up. No note or anything, just let himself out of Castiel’s apartment sometime in the early hours and locked the front door and then slid Castiel’s key back under the gap. He hadn’t expected to see him again but then the following Friday there he was. They didn’t talk about it and Dean had left with a giggling blonde girl he’d been chatting up all night. Castiel tried not to feel hurt. He’d tried not to think about it. Which obviously meant that for about a month afterwards he proceeded to bitch endlessly about him until his bandmates vowed to hold auditions for a new bassist unless he shut the fuck up about Dean Winchester. Castiel had continued to be professionally polite serving him and then somehow, somehow, he’d slowly and very reluctantly found it increasingly hard to hate him. In fact, he kind of liked his dark humour and dry wit, he kind of liked that he could always rely on him to sort out any trouble on a Saturday night and he’d liked that recently on the nights when Dean didn’t hook up, he’d started hanging around and keeping Castiel company when he was closing up. It was nice. It kind of made Castiel sort of wishful that Dean would take him home and fuck him like he had so long ago but it was just a dumb crush. He knew Dean now, he knew how he only ever fucked people once, didn’t form relationships or even friendships as far as Castiel could tell but that was fine. It was fine, Castiel had the band and his job at the bar and friends whom he’d go out with on his days off. He’d occasionally go home with cute boys closer to his age, normally college students, who were sweet and always hung around for breakfast. He could handle a slight crush on the grumpy mid-thirties petty crook who he served drinks to. He totally, completely, definitely had this all under control.

“I’m sorry Cas, I know you don’t want me. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Probably for the first time ever, Dean actually sounded sincere when apologising. He finished his whiskey in one swallow and got up to leave while Castiel just stood watching him completely dumbfounded.

“Wait, since when do I not want you? It was you who left me remember?” Castiel was actually annoyed now, and really fucking confused.

Dean winced and looked away. “You’re right. I did. I’m a cunt. I don’t do relationships, or people really. I’ve been in jail twice, once for joy riding and once for theft. I’m about ten years too old for you and around a month ago I came to one of your gigs and left before the end so you wouldn’t know I was there and I gave a shit and I feel drunk as fuck right now and everything hurts but I love your smile Cas. I love how you always see the best in people and how you genuinely care about all your regulars even though this is only a stop gap until your band makes it big. And, also it’s pretty cute how you’re a bartender but you still manage to suck so bad at drinking.”

Castiel smiled at that last point. “Anything else?”

Dean shook his head, listing slightly to the left. “Nah, I think I’ve pretty much filled my quota for inappropriate When Harry Met Sally moments for the day. Could you please call me a cab though because the bar is spinning?”

“Only if that cab takes us both back to mine and you let me force you to drink at least two glasses of water and sleep this off. And then maybe you could stay for breakfast this time?” Castiel really did try his hardest not to sound too hopeful but he obviously was. All the dumb things he’d been trying to squash down had all burst to the forefront of his mind at the tiny chance that maybe all his pathetic pining wasn’t quite as one sided as he’d thought.

“Fuck.” Dean replied succinctly, and then he shook his head. “We’re probably asking for trouble here but I don’t even care. I’ll make you fucking pancakes.”

Castiel laughed and slid his phone out of his back pocket to call Jo and ask her to come cover for him, then he called for a cab to take them home. 

Once that was sorted he walked around the bar and came to stand in front of Dean. Dean just looked at him for a long moment and then smiled softly. “Thanks Castiel.” He said quietly, “Thanks for showing up when I needed you."

Castiel smiled and felt like a total fucking sap at the rush of affection for this idiot flooding through him right now. He bumped his shoulder gently and replied, “I always fucking will.”


End file.
